


Afterwards

by Caladenia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Endgame AU, F/M, Reference to Episode: S07e25 Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22063042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caladenia/pseuds/Caladenia
Summary: Voyager is back home, but there’s one loss among all which haunts Kathryn Janeway.Endgame AU.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 33
Kudos: 39





	1. Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackVelvet42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/gifts).



> Many thanks to BlackVelvet42 who, once again, betaed this fic to an inch of its life. May we continue to ~~torture~~ love those two characters for many fics to come.  
> And to Cnroth, who checked my amateur foray into psychological grief.

* * *

“My congratulations on your success in bringing _Voyager_ home, Captain. I saw your arrival over San Francisco’s sky. It must have been such a relief to finally be back on Earth.”

“It took too many long years, but we made it.”

“Please sit down. Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea will be fine, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Would you like to start the evaluation now?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with. I assume the details of our conversation will be kept confidential.”

“Of course. As you know, this psychological evaluation is to assess your capacity for promotion. Could you confirm for me the position you’ve been offered?”

“I’ve been offered the position of Admiral.”

“I understand the admiralty is keen to have you among their midst.”

“Yes, the interview panel thinks my experience will be very useful to Starfleet.”

“Indeed. If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin with the disastrous mission which saw your first officer—”

That day? That particular day? Why? _Voyager_ ’s records have all you could—

All right. In my own words. Yes, I can do that.

That morning was another boring shift on the bridge. Chakotay leaned over and whispered a joke he’d heard in the mess hall. I couldn’t help a chuckle. He always did like to make me smile.

Soon enough, the alien of the week appeared on the screen, threatening us with torpedos the size of a small moon. Chakotay’s red shoulders flashed in the corner of my eye when I rose from my chair, and I felt ten times stronger for having my first officer stand close to me.

This time his hand landed on my arm to stop my momentum. He told me there was another way to win this fight than throwing myself into danger again. And then he thanked me when I agreed with his plan. He took the shuttle in my place, with Tom. It was my turn to worry because I didn’t want to lose him.

Them. I didn’t want to lose them.

I’m fine. Thank you.

People say that the first stage of grief is denial. I can tell you there was little to deny in the burnt remains of his body sticking to the transporter pad. There were scraps of uniform clinging to his skin which was charred to the bone in some places. His limbs were contorted in a boxing stance, the last round of a fight he would never win.

But I knew of his fate well before we brought the transporter back online. It was his screams and those of his crew mate carried over the comms channel that told me the truth. The screams that tore from me any hope of seeing him alive again.

To be honest, I knew even before that, when the enemy’s fire hit their shuttle broadside. The explosion flashed on _Voyager_ ’s bridge screen and wrenched my heart at the same time.

So, don’t talk to me about denial. Death in the Delta quadrant was our constant companion, as tangible as any crewmember on the ship. It was never a vague concept for us; something that happened to other ships, other crews, other people. For years it was concrete, often ugly, always absolute, taking one person at a time.

Maybe you are right. Maybe that day, I forgot how close it could follow and snatch what I loved most out of my hands.

But don’t ever ask if I _felt_ him dying. I am no Vulcan, nor Betazoid. I didn’t sense Chakotay’s soul dim into oblivion. I didn’t hear his mind cry out in terror and suddenly silenced. What I heard was his screams, what I saw was the flames and the plasma burns. What I smelled was seared flesh.

You are flinching. Am I too graphic?

It is what it is. I would have thought a Starfleet professional like you—

Yes, I did get angry. I couldn’t afford denial, but I sure got to know about anger through the weeks after that first battle. _Voyager_ was so damaged, only rage and fury held it and me together. We pursued the enemy over tens of light years. We destroyed its ship, its fleet, and its base. I would have scorched its native planet down to the core too if Tuvok had not stood up to me and said it was enough.

He was lucky I didn’t have a phaser in my hand that day.

I turned the ship away, never to return to this wretched section of space. Besides, we’d run out of torpedoes.

And no, I didn’t ask myself what else I could have done so he didn’t have to die. How do you think I spent my days in the early years if not second-guessing myself? Regretting decisions after decisions to push ever forward, to crawl a few light-months at a time if need be. Going nowhere fast. One light-year forward, three backward. That’s how we counted our journey. By years. Decades. Seven decades it would have taken us, so any second saved was one less spent going through whatever the Delta quadrant threw at us. We all knew the odds, and I had filled my guilt bucket by then. There wasn’t any more room.

Even for him.

What do you think happened next? After we blew that alien to smithereens, I had to deal with a devastated crew, my senior officers in mourning, a bridge shattered. So, I organised a wake to bring some closure. People talked about him, how he had helped them, how he had changed their lives. Not just the former Maquis crew, mind you, but everybody on the ship had something to tell. A story, an anecdote. He was…

Naomi brought a carving he’d made for her, a small bird. She was so distraught, the poor child. I had been so bent on pursuing his killer that I had forgotten about his family, his friends. It was…

Never mind.

The day after, we held Chakotay’s funeral in pure Starfleet tradition, with bosun whistle and everybody standing at attention. I made a speech, before giving the order to cast the torpedo case into space. I was…

Sorry.

Afterwards?

I didn’t have the luxury to wait any longer before filling his post. Chakotay had taken over so many more responsibilities than I ever knew, we all had to step up, me most of all. I promoted Tuvok to first officer. Kim, I put at tactical. An ensign from engineering with a name I never could remember until much later took his role at Ops. Paris got his commander bar while recuperating in sickbay.

It took another month before things shuffled back into a semblance of a working bridge. Tom returned to the helm, his left arm missing a hand. Tuvok stood by my side with his typical composure, but it felt like Vulcan-style pity for a long time. Harry carried his two pips as if they were a yoke.

Just because of one man gone.

But if I looked at the forward screen and ignored the ragged hole where the science station used to be, I could almost pretend that everything was back to normal.

Back to before.

You’ve read my logs. It was rare when I made it through a whole shift without hitting something or collapsing in a heap. I only lasted on the bridge until mid-morning most days.

More often than not, I would just turn around, walk to the ready room, wait for the door to close behind me before sliding against the wall, my knees like jelly and my chest hurting and hurting and I couldn’t move and I couldn’t breathe. Until I had to get up again and hobble back into the reality that was life without Chakotay.

Yes, with time, I found it easier to go through the days, but his absence kept me awake at night. The empty and silent quarters. Dinners spent by myself. The ship prow can be a very lonely place when there’s only darkness inside and out.

I survived. We survived.

Now that we’re home though, it feels like everybody has forgotten him. The crew, they’re all so happy. They’ve got their families to return to, people to be with. They’re moving on.

Yes, I did attend his posthumous pardon ceremony. I worked with the man for a long time. I didn’t need the speeches to tell me how much we owed him.

But it’s the little things which bump into me every day that make me stumble. The smell of rain. The sound of the wind in the leaves. He was going to show me the land of his ancestors once we were back.

Seeing people holding hands in the streets when we couldn’t that in public on the ship.

 _I want to find his socks under the bed again. I want to wake up with him trailing his fingers down my back and making my body sing once more._ _I want to see his smile for years to come so we can grow old together._

No, I’m not depressed. Believe me, I know the difference. If you’ve read my early records, you’d know too. Neither am I blind. Things might not have lasted between us once we were back. You aren’t the first person to point this out to me.

Of course, I’ve accepted his death. Turned a page on what could have been. And that’s why I’m here, aren’t I? Looking forward and planning for the future.

_I want him back._

_I’ll get him back._

_I will._

_You’ll see.  
_


	2. Coffee

“Doctor, may I speak to you in private?”

“Of course, Admiral Nechayev. Please, sit down.”

That an admiral deigned come to her was unprecedented. She was usually the one to sit in a waiting room of the Admiralty wing.

“I’ve come to discuss your preliminary report on Captain Janeway’s psychological evaluation.”

That explained a lot.

“I won’t beat around the bush. We need her.”

“Are you asking me to change my recommendation not to approve Captain Janeway’s promotion?”

“In one word, yes. Picard, for all his experience as Locutus, has got nothing on Janeway on how to deal with the Borg, not to speak of her in-depth knowledge of the Delta quadrant species who could well pay us a visit sooner or later.”

Not for the first time, the psychologist asked herself what Janeway wanted so badly from Starfleet in return.

“It would be remiss of us to keep Janeway as a mere captain. We need her at the highest level of command. She’ll be overseen by myself and Admiral T’Lara, if you are worried about her fitness for the job.”

‘Worried’ did not even start to cover the psychologist’s concerns, but she needed to tread carefully. She wanted to do what was right for Janeway. Being pushed into the highest position in Starfleet, under the supervision of a hard-nosed admiral and that of a Vulcan, was hardly what the woman required.

“Captain Janeway was out in the Delta quadrant with no backup for years on end. She suffered great losses, some very close to her. My professional—”

Nechayev snorted. “That Maquis rebel! If it had been up to me, I would have hauled her in front of a court martial the moment she set foot on Earth. And before you accuse me of being biased, I’m not the only one to think the same. Contrary to most, however, I’m willing to see beyond that failing of hers. The Federation needs heroes, I’ve been told, and she fits the bill.”

The psychologist steepled her fingers. Janeway did not need to be put in a situation where half of the admiralty was against her, and the other half had no idea how to handle her.

A loose cannon, she’d heard Janeway called in the corridors of Starfleet Headquarters. Since her session with the captain, she had wondered many times if she was protecting Janeway from what could be a soul-crushing career move, or was it the admiralty she was shielding from a woman who seemed so alien at times?

“I am uneasy about what she might—”

“I’m only concerned about three things. Will Janeway do her duty?”

How could they even ask? “Of course. Captain Janeway didn’t uphold Starfleet principles during the years she found herself in the Delta quadrant to trample them underfoot once she’s back. That’s—”

“Will she betray us if the fight comes to our doorstep?”

The psychologist sighed deeply. “No. She is pro-Federation, through and through.”

“And yet, she allied herself to the Maquis, then to the Borg. Gave technology to the Hirogens who make the Cardassians look like teddy bears, and forged a truce with another species which even the Borg are terrified of.”

“She survived. Brought her crew home. Made hundreds of first contacts, ten times all the current admirals put together. You can’t ask for much more than that.”

“Then we are in agreement. More importantly, will she follow orders? We can’t afford a rogue admiral tasked with the safeguard of the Federation.”

That was an interesting point. Being the highest officer in the Delta quadrant for years meant that Janeway only had protocols and her training to tell her what to do. But she had not given any inkling she thought herself above obeying commands.

It was something else that Janeway had kept well out of sight. Something the psychologist had sensed without being able to unearth it during the few hours she’d spent skimming over the dark recesses of the captain’s mind.

“Yes, she will follow orders to the best of her ability,” she conceded.

“Then, why tick the ‘No’ box?”

“It’s all in my report.”

“Tell me in your own words.”

That made her flinch, even if Nechayev couldn’t know why.

“Captain Janeway suffers from profound fatigue due to her unwavering commitment and never-ending labour at the helm of a lone ship for years without rest or relief, compounded by severe post-traumatic stress which was left untreated for too long.”

Nechayev waved her hand. “We’ll give her two months leave and order her to see a counsellor.”

“You are offering Captain Janeway a position which comes attached to even more responsibilities than she shouldered before. Instead of one ship and a relatively small crew, she’ll be in charge of sending tens of starships into battle if necessary, thousands of lives hanging in the balance with, potentially, the fate of entire planets in her hands.”

“That is the price admirals pay.” Nechayev’s jaw tightened. “We are not asking of her anything that we don’t ask from ourselves, day in, day out.”

Janeway’s words resonated in the psychologist’s mind. _It is what it is_.

“When we interviewed her, Janeway welcomed her promotion. Did she indicate she had changed her mind? That she didn’t want to become an admiral any longer?”

“No, she never said that.”

Nechayev stood. “Janeway will obey orders. She will honour and uphold Starfleet and Federation principles. Frankly, that’s all this evaluation was about.”

Just to make sure there were no misunderstandings, the psychologist enunciated clearly: “You will appoint Captain Janeway to the admiralty despite my recommendation.”

“She is an asset we can’t afford not to use. We could go over your head, but I’m offering you the opportunity to review your conclusion. In the mean time, I will approve Janeway’s leave and I’ll talk to counselling services personally.”

The psychologist slumped in her chair, as she watched Nechayev leave her office. _An asset_. That’s all Janeway was to Starfleet. An asset.

And what was Starfleet to the captain? She was eager to become an admiral, that much had been clear. But to what purpose? What did Janeway want so much that she was willing to serve the rest of her life in another kind of hell? It was not ambition, nor an exaggerated confidence in her skills which were formidable indeed.

The admiralty wasn't the captain’s endgame. She was indeed planning for the future, for what lay afterwards. And when she made her move, the psychologist was not sure Starfleet, or even the Federation, would know what hit them.

She opened her report and approved Janeway’s promotion.

**###**

“My congratulations on your success in bringing _Voyager_ home, Captain. I saw your arrival over San Francisco’s sky. It must have been such a relief to finally be back on Earth.”

“It took seven long years, but we made it.”

“Please sit down. Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee. Black. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Would you like to start the evaluation now?”

“Yes, let’s get this over with. I assume the details of our conversation will be kept confidential.”

“Of course. As you know, this psychological evaluation is to assess your capacity for promotion. Could you confirm for me the position you’ve been offered?”

“I’ve been offered the position of Admiral.”

“I understand the admiralty is keen to have you among their midst.”

“Yes, the interview panel thinks my experience will be very useful to Starfleet.”

“Indeed. If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin with the day you returned to _Voyager_ after spending three months with your first officer—”

“That day? That particular day? Why? _Voyager_ ’s records have all you could—

All right. In my own words. Yes, I can do that.

First of all, let me make something very clear, in case there are still doubts in the minds of the admiralty. Nothing happened between me and my first officer on that planet.

With time on our side, who knows? We thought we would be stranded there for the rest of our lives after all. But when we returned to _Voyager_ , I insisted we resume a purely professional relationship.

Was he happy with the situation? You’ll have to ask him. Once we arrived on Earth and disembarked, he left with one of my crew members.

No. I have no idea where they went afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Homage to Sherlock – The Lying Detective (2017), and Episode IV of Star Wars: A New Hope (1977)


End file.
